Vignettes
by EllieRose101
Summary: A collection of little snippets of Spike and Buffy musing on each other and their relationship from Season Five onwards.
1. Part One

Dolls _(Season Five, set after Intervention. Spike's POV)_

Dru's dolls used to drive me barmy. The way she'd obsess over them, even when she was neglecting herself. And me. I wanted to smash them up, but I couldn't ever do it to her. The way her face lit up when she played…

What Buffy doesn't understand is that the mannequin – it's not her. It's not supposed to be her. It's… damn hard to explain even to myself, but Dru would have got it.

Dru got too bloody much, now I think on it. If only she'd told me plain what she saw, I would have run for the soddin' hills away from Sunnyhell and no one would have seen me for dust! Except, well, that little metaphor works a little too well in the case of yours truly, doesn't it?

Buffy burns me up. It's the only way I can describe her – fire. Purifying, and destructive, and yeah, so I wanted more. Sue me. She's glorious, all the other pillocks are blind for not seein' it.

I see it. Can't look away. But she doesn't want me, right? Fine. I get it. But, see, that's what the doll is for. What the bot was for. I wanted it to be her, but I knew… I know I need to get over this. But, if there's no substitute, what can I do?

* * *

Religious Experience _(Spike. Season Six)_

I used to believe in God, as a human. It's what I was taught. Never thought to question. Then I ascended, became something more than human. Something other than dead. For a while, I thought we were gods, me and Dru. Not Darla. Definitely not Angelus. But we had power, and she had a kind of divinity. The visions. Her gift and curse.

When she left, it was always because I was less than. I realized, I never was a god.

Then there was Buffy. If ever anyone could make me believe again…

She had it, you know? All of it right down to the sanctimonious stick up her arse. But she glowed. And then she died.

She burns less bright now. So I'm back to thinking there's no almighty up there, planning things out. If there was, she sure as hell wouldn't be with me.

* * *

Smoke _(Buffy. Season Six)_

His lips taste like an ashtray, sometimes, and I know I should feel disgusted, but it's come to be a comforting thing. One of the only things I don't hate.

It's just so him, you know? I can't explain it. Sometimes I'll see something and it'll make me think of him. Like, I'll be in the mall and I'll see a box set of some crappy TV show and I'll be over at it, picking it up and reading the back, before I realize what I'm doing. Dawn or Willow will catch me, ask me what's up, and it's on the tip of my tongue to tell them it's something he would love.

I bite my tongue and don't say anything. His taste still lingers there.

* * *

Touch: Part One _(Buffy. Season Seven)_

He's been touching me for years. Little brushes against my side, hands lingering longer than necessary after helping me up, or knocking me down; tucking stray hairs behind my ear. Like an idiot, he thought I wouldn't notice.

Like an idiot, it admittedly did take me a while. Looking back on it, I can't believe I was shocked when I first found out he had feelings. Nothing Spike does is ever subtle. Maybe I was blind. Willfully ignorant, Giles would call it.

Perspective changes everything. And time.

These days, I'm not willing away my knowledge, or his feelings. I'm regretting that he doesn't trust himself to steal little touches, anymore.

* * *

Touch: Part Two (Spike. Set after the conversation between Buffy and Spike in 'End of Days'.)

Terrifying. That's how I explained it, when she asked. Don't rightly think I explained it well at all, but it was the first word that came to mind. And after… there's so much, all rushing around. I'm trying not to hope, but my efforts in that department never did tend to get me far.

Even in my head it sounds mad, but it's like – for all that's come before, and what we did – last night was the first time I truly got to touch her. There aren't words for that. I'm like a man on my knees, here. Her showin' me that vulnerability has left me weak – at her mercy, where she could say or do anything to cut me down – but I wouldn't give up my place for anyone. Except her, o'course. Not if it's beside her.

If. It's a big word, if.

I spent so many days and nights wondering if they were gonna be the last I would get to touch her, not knowing or understanding that she wasn't herself, and it didn't count. Even if she did try and knock it into me, I couldn't see. But now, yeah, worry has taken on a whole new meaning. Terrifying is as good enough word for it as any.

* * *

Author Note: I'm going to add a second instalment of this tomorrow. In the meantime, if you're looking for more vignettes by me in the same vein, I recommend checking on the one I posted here titled 'Eye Contact.'


	2. Part Two

Waking Up _(Buffy. Post Series)_

The significance of it didn't strike Buffy for a long time afterwards. It took an age for her to see what Spike had been trying to point out to her for years – Angel really had done a number on her. Whether or not that was his fault… well, they still disagreed about that.

She'd woken up the morning after her first time and finding herself alone had broken something within her. It had been her first instinct to check Parker was still around after their night together, and he of course wasn't, then he was, and then he wanted nothing more to do with her. That had screwed her up so much the memory still pained her gut even now.

By the time Riley had rolled around, Buffy didn't even bother to look. Part of her knew he was the more loyal type, but another, much bigger part of herself just hadn't cared at that point. He said, when he eventually did leave, that she hadn't been emotionally invested in the relationship, and it was true. She'd been burned and had held back, especially after the Faith body-switching fiasco.

Spike… Spike was a different matter. He always was. With him, there was again no doubt that he'd run off; that'd she'd wake up alone. But, damn it, she did care about that fact. It bothered her. A lot. So she'd taken to punishing him for the past crimes of others and always been the one to run away from him, the morning after. Sometimes she didn't even stay long enough for her toes to stop tingling.

When they'd started sharing a bed during the whole thing with the First, they'd gotten past all that. But, of course, they'd lost something too. Now…

"Looks like an awful lot's going on in that head," Spike mused, sitting up to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "You okay?"

Buffy pressed her lips to his, thankful for the distraction. He'd always been good at reading her mind; or enough to get the general idea if not the specific thoughts, anyway. "I am now," she said, sighing.

"I ever tell you you're gorgeous when your mind's whirring away?"

She beamed at him. "You might have mentioned it, once or twice."

Grinning back at her, he leaned forward for another kiss, firm and sensuous. Buffy shifted against him, positioning herself so she was all but in his lap.

"God, I love you," Spike breathed.

"I love you too," replied Buffy, the delight of feeling free enough to say the words still not having lost its appeal, even after what must have been a thousand times.

Spike's mouth smiled against hers as they kissed again, the rest of his body stirring at the contact. He pressed two fingers gently against her temple. "You wanna tell me what's going on up there?" His voice turned husky as he added, "Something terribly sinful, was it?"

God, the things his words did to her. She began grinding against his length as she replied, "Thinking about the future."

"Good day for it," replied Spike. "What else?"

"The past," she confessed.

"Ah. Been on a little guilt trip, have we?"

"A little. But it makes me grateful, you know? For what we have now."

"I know," Spike agreed. "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life waking up next to you."

"Exactly," said Buffy, beaming once more.

Shifting so that she was seated more firmly against him, Spike pressed play on the CD player beside the bed and the words 'nice day for a white wedding,' blasted out of the speakers. He'd made a playlist. Of course he had.

Looking deep into his ever expressive eyes as she sank down on his hard prick, she mused again at how thankful she felt for that morning she woke up to find he hadn't died after all. Or not for good, anyway. They'd been inseparable, since. And, like the man said, they were gonna spend the rest of their lives the same way.

She was never, ever going to wake up alone again.


End file.
